Peace Shall Come
by Shikiyamachi
Summary: God created two archangels after Lucifer's fall with one command programmed into their grace: annihilate any angel following Lucifer's path towards corruption, no exceptions. -slow burn Destiel-
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Romance is the second genre for a reason. For those reading, if romance is what you are looking for as the main plot, perhaps another fiction would be suited to your tastes.

As always, thank you for reading...

* * *

The hearts of three men still weighed heavily after a week, always remembering the two women lost during the failed attempt at killing Lucifer. They had died for nothing. Lucifer was still alive, every man, woman, and child of Carthage had been killed, and the Horseman of Death was walking the Earth.

While Sam and Bobby grieved within their piles of tomes, Dean laid on the bed, arm concealing his reddened green eyes. Only by himself did he feel comfortable enough to leak a few tears. Guilt, regret and hopelessness fatigued his body. Killing the Devil was a mission easier said than done, and doing it had cost everything and given nothing. They never should have tried killing Lucifer with the Colt; preventing the Apocalypse would not have been that simple.

But what was breaking Dean the most were those forced forgotten memories of Zachariah's world. That world also possessed the Colt, and the other Dean had brought the gun to his last mission. When Dean had awoken, he had definitely heard gunfire. Dean should have already known the Colt was useless against Lucifer, because older Dean had failed. Lucifer, in Sam's body, was still living while Dean was dead under his polished shoe.

The Colt had been useless.

Maybe saying '_yes'_ to Michael really was the only way...

A cold feeling suddenly rushed through Dean's body. He almost believed he was back in time when he was mauled by hellhounds. The same sensation of death was present despite his flesh remaining intact. Just as fast as death came, it went, but now Dean was warm. Not uncomfortably though. This warmth was welcoming, and a missing piece of him seemed to fill up.

Dean lifted his left hand, surprised to see a greyish glow radiating from his skin. Almost unwillingly, Dean slipped his other hand into his jeans pocket. The hand revealed the War ring, which was bathed in pure black light. Dean had nothing urging him to call for Sam and Bobby. His mouth remained shut and his instincts were silent.

He was at peace.

White light glinted in his peripheral vision, but before Dean could glance over, he reached unconsciousness.

* * *

The moment Dean regained consciousness, he opened his eyes and groaned.

The problem...

This was not the upstairs bedroom in Bobby's house. This room was not inside a house, but rather an abandoned building. The walls had cracks from the ceiling down to the shabby hardwood floors. The tables around him were covered in dusty white cloth and the lights above him were dim, some completely burnt out, giving the place a desolate, creepy atmosphere.

Dean stood up from his spot on the floor, or at lease tried to. He had not taken a look at himself, and now that he had, Dean realized he was stuck. His arms were free of restraints, but his ankles were trapped together by chains. Painted on the flooring below Dean was a circle with symbols he had never seen before, though he could guess since he was unable to crawl passed the circle. It must have been a human version of a devil's trap, and since Dean had never encountered one, his kidnapper had to be something old, which usually meant something powerful. He feared the archangel Michael had finally abducted Dean himself.

If a normal angel like Zachariah would give him stomach cancer just to force his compliance, an archangel rivaling Lucifer would do much worse. Even though Lucifer was the fallen angel bent on slaughtering humanity, Michael was the angel needing Dean's body as a vessel to begin the fight that would result in the death of billions. And Dean remembered the poor man who had given Raphael his consent; he was not even a person anymore, just a mindless sack of flesh and bone.

There was no way Dean would submit to Michael.

Right as Dean made his conviction, a shadowy figure split from the shadows. The sudden appearance caused Dean to back up as far as the circle would allow. It was a man, but not an ordinary one. He did not emit any angelic power, nor was he a demon. No, this was something worse. Dean knew this somehow, almost like the being in front of him was an old acquaintance. While fear was present, a sense of familial animosity overpowered his fright. Dean was close to this man in some way, but he despised him as well.

The man was nearly skeletal, his cheeks hollow and skin sickly pale. His suit fit remarkably well though, as if the material had been tailored with him specifically in mind. He walked with a brown cane that had a decorative tan handle, but most notable was his large ring, the white stone glowing brightly.

Without realizing, Dean's hand began reaching towards the powerful being, or more precisely, the ring on his finger. Dean wanted– needed that ring. He had to have it, but why?

The skeletal man stepped into the circle and bent down to one knee, his ringed hand sliding down to the middle of his cane. Dean watched his every move, waiting nervously. His back was tightly pressed against the invisible wall, his chained legs bent against his chest.

Eventually, the man spoke. "Do you see me?"

Dean did not reply, his confused expression speaking for itself. The man sighed, seemingly disappointed. His bony shoulders drooped before abruptly straightening. His free hand reached into a pocket and brought out a familiar ring. The golden ring was still glowing black as it had been back at Bobby's place.

"Dean Winchester, do you know who you truly are?" His penetrative stare caused a slight shiver up Dean's spine. The second question was just as nonsensical as the first. All Dean could do was look at the man in bewilderment.

Another unnerving stare was directed at Dean. He waited for another confusing question to be asked, but none came. Instead, the man set his cane down on the ground. His freed hand slid across the hardwood and grasped Dean's right hand. Completely frozen in place, Dean was unable to wrench his hand back. His wide green eyes could only watch as the man slid War's ring onto his ring finger.

The black light surrounding the gold flared for a few seconds before darkening into nothing. The darkness had disappeared back inside the metal. His hand was released, but the man immediately snatched his other one. Still incapable of movement, Dean continued watching, dread clenching the muscles in his stomach.

After the man removed the ring from his own finger with his teeth, he revealed himself. "I am Death, Dean Winchester."

Dean released an embarrassing whimper, his fear doubling its intensity. Facing him was the Death Horseman, the one Lucifer had summoned just a week ago. Had the Devil's first order been to kill Dean?

Dean regained his voice, but his response was shaky and weak. He hated it. "W-What are you doing? What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Death stared, amusement clear in his tone and expression. "Nothing from you. In fact, after this, you will no longer be."

Dean felt the need to vomit. The fear that had been slowly increasing within him reached a peak, and suddenly in control, Dean began struggling out of Death's hold. Although the Horseman was in a frail human vessel, it did not change the fact that Death's true self had unimaginable strength.

Without any trouble from Dean's thrashing, Death slipped his ring onto Dean's finger. Immediately, Dean stopped moving. Deep inside his chest, his rapidly beating heart halted.

Then suddenly, Dean screamed.

His whole body shook with violent tremors, his heart once again pumping blood, but painfully. Dean gripped the clothes covering his chest, screaming louder than when the hellhounds had torn him apart. Across from him, Death seized his cane and stood, purposely sliding the bottom across the circle.

Dean's body collapsed backwards. Free of the trap, Dean turned onto his side and curled into himself. He continued screaming, one hand grabbing his chest and the other clawing the floor, damaging his nails. A white light spread throughout his body, beginning from Death's white stoned ring. The ring of War glowed black once again and quickly followed suit, surrounding Dean in a warm grey light.

The hunter was in too much pain to notice. His eyes were closed tightly and his screaming reached an unbearable pitch. Dean rolled to his other side, sobbing out tears of agony. His chest constricted, throat closing up from extreme abuse, and most painful of all was his back. Amongst his dying screams, Dean could hear a nauseating popping sound originating from his back. His muscles were tense, excruciatingly so. His head felt like it was splitting in two and eventually, his screaming became nothing but silent cries.

Through his pain, Dean remembered his entire life. All of his thirty-one years passed like a movie directed from one point of view. He realized then, that as soon as one moment passed, those memories were swiped from his mind.

Dean remembered his mother, Mary. Her beautiful blonde hair and kind green eyes. The songs she sang as she put him to bed. Her smile. Her laugh. His love for her. The loss he felt when she died. And that time Cas took him back through time. He remembered that too, even though not much time had passed since that saddening adventure.

But then it was gone.

What had he just been thinking about?

What was going on?

Dad, why is this happening? I'm so confused, Da–

_Respect. Admiration. Loss._

Why do I feel so–?

I don't–

Jess, Sam loved her. But then she died. Why did she have to? Sammy would still be happy had she still been–

Been what?

I saved her.

I saved him.

I saved them.

I saved– who? From what? Why?

Cas, he has to know. He knows a lot. And Sammy. They both do. They're always there for me. Always make me smile.

Even when Ellen and Jo had–

Had what?

Who are they?

Why do I feel so... sad?

Why does it hurt to try and remember?

Why am I crying? Why, why, why, why, why...!?

Bobby, I can't– Please help me! I need you! Please~! Don't go, I need–

Need what? Who?

My head... it hurts... my entire body aches. But why?

Sammy! Where are you!? Please, I'm sorry. I do love you! I trust you! You are everything to me! You're all I have left!

Please, help me. I need you.

Sammy! Cas!

Please, Cas. Help me!

I need you! I need Samm–?

Sam–?

Sa–?

S– oh, God. No...! Please, I can't forget him! I can't– Cas, please. You'd know what to do. Right? Right!?

Cas!

Castiel!

Please... don't leave me too!

I need you!

Please... I'll do anything! Just please, don't–

Don't... What?

What was I just– Why can't I remember?!

I... I... I...

_Happiness. Admiration. Sadness. Joy. Fear. Trust. Relief. Embarrassment. Excitement. Despair. _

_Hope..._

_Love..._

_...Gone..._

Who... am I...?

Empty, watery green eyes stared up at a high ceiling.

Silence was in control for only a mere second before the man released a despairing wail. He twisted until his stomach faced the floor and curled into himself. He could remember nothing and felt nothing. He had no idea as to why he was crying, bar the agony surrounding his shoulders. What was his name anyway?

But then he remembered... and with those new, long forgotten memories revived, the curled body screamed one last time.

Blood sprayed across the floor, walls and tables, decorating everything a light crimson.

Great shadows spread across the red stained walls.

And in the middle of this chaos, without a speck of blood on his suit... was Death.

The Horseman smiled, "Welcome back... Denel."


	2. Chapter 2

Editing is a pain sometimes. You never know if your improving the work, or butchering it. Either way, you have to rape a first draft to hell before calling a second or so on draft 'good enough' or 'perfect'.

Anyway, thank you all so much for those who have taken the time to read this. I appreciate it.

* * *

Death knew the moment Lucifer was released from his prison that he would be brought back onto Earth. The last time he had been to this world was more than thirty years ago. And that last visit had been one of his most joyous, or at least it had been, before he realized life was not as enjoyable without that one constant in his eternal life.

Denel...

It was to his surprise, during his summoning, that the jewel on his ring began glowing. His ring reacted under one condition. But how could that of been possible? Denel had been dead for more than three decades, a death he had witnessed himself. And yet, maybe he should have expected her to be brought back, considering His parting words.

When he reached the living world, his ring was dull once again. Death knew there had been two living humans at the graveyard, and with what he was, Death knew those humans. Sam and Dean Winchester, two individuals who defied his power, all because of demon deals and meddling angels. Atropos was especially angry. She despised anything that disrupted her natural order. Not that Death cared. If the apocalypse was averted like he planned, Atropos' job would be rendered obsolete.

One of the Winchesters had aroused the power within his jewel. How though, when they were naturally born, and very male, humans. He and Denel had known each other since her creation. Never would she choose to possess a male vessel under any circumstances. Unwillingly however...

Once Lucifer relieved Death of his presence, he searched out the Winchester brothers. The fallen angel had yet to order anything from him, allowing him free reign until further notice. A mistake on Lucifer's part, but what should have Death expected from a childish archangel.

When Death found the Winchesters, he easily marked off Sam Winchester. The boy caused no reaction. Death teleported to the eldest brother and immediately knew. Denel had been born as a human male, and even more shocking, had been destined to become Michael's vessel. How He could have done such a thing to His own child, Death wondered. Nothing He did was by accident. His actions always had a purpose, and He always worked in the benefit of those He held in high regard, like His two final creations. Even when they were both on the ground, vessels bleeding out, Death saw His borrowed eyes filled with what could have been perceived as love – had He possessed such animalistic emotions (_how foolish humans are, believing He could actually love_).

Now Death was beginning to understand what happened that day. Unfortunately, he still was unsure as to why. What was accomplished by reviving Denel, and possibly her other half as well, into measly humans, he still did not understand.

Death stared, memorized at the being before him. Dean Winchester was no longer a measly human, no. The man was Death's divine counterpart, the one creature who equaled Death in every way.

Dean Winchester was Denel, the Horseman Archangel of War and Death.

"Welcome back... Denel."

His greeting was loud and clear in the dilapidated building. A magnificent pair of wings fluttered, the magenta feathers soaked with wet, dripping blood in a parody of rainwater. Shredded cloth swayed along with each wave of her feathered limbs, and after a swift and elegant twirl, Denel connected gazes with Death. Her emerald irises were glowing, the grace within her human body shining through without constraint. The jewelry adorning her ring fingers had dulled, the energy fully absorbed by her revived light. She cocked her head to the side and returned Death's smile, the visage shadowed and grotesque.

She uttered one of his many names, "Mavet."

Her masculine vocals were distorted by a distinct feminine accent. This particular angel had possessed a male vessel only once before, during her first time away from Heaven. Since then, Denel was always seen in female skin. But her human self was a man, and because she was born as such, Denel would never again be allowed to possess a female vessel.

Denel brought her hands up to her eyes and sneered. The angel's brows furrowed for a split second. Then, just as quickly, Denel teleported, grabbing Death by his shirt collar and lifting. Her usually composed disposition was gone, "What have you done to me, you bastard!"

Death gripped her wrist, "You do not remember, Denel?"

Denel contemplated his response, the anger dwindling until nothing remained. She released his shirt and pulled away, turning her back on the horseman. "The last I remember is Father requesting our presence. I had finished speaking with you when I heard the call." Her wings stretched out and slowly loss substance, turning transparent then invisible to all but herself. Her tattered shirt was restored with a snap of her fingers.

The news surprised Death. Denel had forgotten her own death, and even her human memories. In any other situation, Death would not have cared. However, the angel needed those memories. While he could not restore the emotions Denel had gained throughout her life as Dean Winchester, he could restore the forgotten memories.

Which was no important loss, as such sentiments would simply be a hindrance.

Denel lacked the ability to feel human emotion, unlike her angelic brethren. She only expressed malicious emotion – like wrath and hatred – as He had created the archangel through powers of him and War, sinister entities devoid of life, compassion and love. Bereft of benevolence, Denel had been the perfect assassin for God.

Death preferred a Denel who knew nothing of humanity. There was no time for human morals to deprive him the chance of freedom.

He slammed the end of his cane down to gain Denel's attention. The archangel faced him, visibly startled when Death's bony hand engulfed her cheek. Her shining orbs narrowed suspiciously, mouth frowning but unspeaking. The two immortals stared at each other, waiting. Death moved first, pressing his forehead against Denel's. He gripped her arms, his cane collapsing to the floor. He gripped her arms tightly and searched for that one specific gate. They opened.

Death observed each memory that passed the gate.

Dean Winchester's birth.

Samuel Winchester's birth.

Mary Winchester's death.

John Winchester's sacrifice.

Samuel Winchester's death and revival _...The true beginning of the apocalypse..._

Demon Azazel. The demon deal. Demon Ruby. Demon Lilith.

Perdition. Demon Alastair. The torture.

Dean Winchester's laugh with each use of a knife ..._No doubt a product of his angelic self..._

His rise from perdition by the seraph Castiel.

The sixty-six seals. Alastair's death. Angel Zachariah.

Castiel's fall from Heaven, for Dean Winchester and all of humanity ..._Will he be guilty or innocent in your eyes...?_

Lilith's death. Ruby's death. Arrival of the apocalypse.

Archangel Lucifer. Archangel Michael. Archangel Raphael. Archangel Gabriel _...Every archangel on the board; who will survive her fury...?_

The deaths of Ellen and Joanna Harvelle.

And Dean Winchester's final moments as a human.

As the last human memory rushed through the gate, Death released Denel's arms and summoned the cane back to his hand. Denel stood motionless for a few moments. "I..." She looked at her hands, turning them over curiously. "I am... human?"

"Partially human," Death replied, "or at least you are now."

Understanding flashed across Denel's face, and then a pure hatred for herself, "So I am trapped in this vessel?"

Death concealed his smirk behind a fist, "Not the first question I expected, but yes." Denel did not respond, the archangel fighting the rage daring to erupt. He watched as each dark emotion traded with another until only forced indifference was present.

Denel dropped her hands, "I am missing many important details. Explain, Mavet."

Death shrugged his vessel's shoulders. "It has been more than three decades since your last memory as an angel, Denel. The memories I returned to you are your human memories as Dean Winchester. Do you understand everything you have witnessed?"

"The memories are rather... strange." Denel snapped her fingers on both hands, manipulating the bloody landscape to her need. The decrepit room became pitch black, and just as suddenly, millions of moving negatives enveloped every black inch of space, the Winchester life brought to photographic viewing. Below the two immortals was Dean Winchester's life through his eyes in cinematic form. Denel glanced around her before lifting her right hand, a ball of her grace manifesting above her palm. The grey light would have blinded a human, had any been present.

Death glanced towards his feet, watching the human's life play out with mild interest. While he had already seen each second of Dean Winchester's life on fast forward, he rarely experienced the incredible power Denel had at her disposal. In the time she had been alive, Denel had little interest in using her abilities, unlike the archangel Gabriel, who constantly used his power to manipulate the surroundings to his liking.

"I understand what is taking place, but these are not personal memories. I feel no connection."

"And by connection, you mean in an emotional aspect, correct?"

"Yes." Denel snapped her free hand, and instantly her grace was replaced by the soul of the Righteous Man. The glowing orb was an unusual golden color, an expected difference compared to a normal soul. Every few seconds, a spark of grey would flicker within the sphere. It was the taint of Denel's foul grace. "Yet I see the human's soul, and know this man is me."

The memorizing orb dissipated into nothingness, leaving the two immortals surrounded by memories. Denel continued, "Looking at these memories, I cannot connect with them. I lack the capacity to feel more than half the emotions Dean Winchester experienced. Happiness. Fear. Despair. Love. I can identify when he feels these and more, but I am unable to personally feel them. Seems we are the same person, but still separate entities."

Denel walked to one strip of negatives and glided a finger against it, the strip making way for a new one showing Lilith's death and Lucifer's release. "I am impressed with the demons' work. They played the Winchester family very well. The moment Mary Winchester initiated a contract with Azazel, her sons were destined for damnation. A perfect tragedy, right, Mavet?"

"Indeed." Death leaned against a group of negatives, "Had you been awakened sooner, everything would have played out much differently. Tell me, Denel, do you remember how you became human, or do these events continue to elude you?"

She clapped twice, Dean Winchester's life trading places with Denel's last memories as a Horseman archangel. As Denel previously admitted, the only images coming forth were from their last conversation. Death decided then, "I think it best the memories return without outside help."

"Do you believe I am unable to handle it?" Denel sneered at him, clearly insulted.

He replied bluntly, "I know you cannot handle it, Denel. And if I did reopen those last memories, you would never believe me. You know I could falsify a memory if I so wished. You would never notice a difference. Remembering how you came to be a Winchester will be up to you. I have done enough."

Denel's sneer melted into a smirk as her illusion faded away. "I will accept your answer. Now, explain what you want from me." She circled the Horseman with a feminine sway, somehow retaining her graceful movements with the male body. "I hate you. You hate me. Surely you were happy with me out of the picture. So why have you chosen to revive my grace, Mavet?"

Death had accepted when he was first summoned by Lucifer that his abilities would be controlled, but then his ring had glowed brightly. Denel was, ironically, his saving grace. But once the apocalypse was prevented, the status quo would be back into place. "You know exactly what I want, angel. Otherwise you would not be smirking."

"Yes, I do know." She stopped before him, the smirk still firmly in place. "I just want to hear it from your vessel's lips. After all Mavet, it is not a usual occurrence for our positions to be reversed."

He hated her so much. "I need your help to break the leash around my neck. I want that bratty child dead, Denel. You know I have no time to deal with temper tantrums; I am a busy man, as humans say."

Denel smiled prettily, the fake expression mocking in a way only Death could perceive. "I do enjoy hearing you say help. Anyway, why do you think I would aid in the execution of Lucifer? I can do whatever I want now, and you think I would waste it helping to free you? You are one arrogant immortal."

"Not arrogant, just sure of myself. After all, do you honestly believe you are powerful enough to resist the only purpose your Father created you for? This is the apocalypse, Denel!" Death tilted his head after the yell, eyes wide and lips sneering. He circled Denel as she had moments ago. "An apocalypse the angels never bothered to prevent. No, they only helped it along. The light which ordains each angel's right to live has either darkened or disappeared altogether. And as each light dies, the demonic power within your grace will begin to take over until every last tainted angel is exterminated."

Denel tensed and tightened her hands into fists. She was furious with him... but it was not the first time. Although Death could not kill Denel and vice versa, they had participated in countless fights. Each encounter ended in spilt blood and grace, one more violent than the last. Just knowing the other could be maimed without dying had been enough reason to continue fighting. The few times Death had avoided fights were those moments when the Horsemen Archangel of Pestilence and Famine had been present.

That was one archangel Death wished to never see again. Denel was a toddler in comparison.

"Fine." Death refrained from displaying any smugness. "I will kill Lucifer and the other angels. However, it will have to wait. I'm sure you know why."

Indeed he did. Unfortunately, her strength was significantly drained, her wings a notable result. She was too weak to sustain the form of her feathers limbs. The evil aura that usually oozed from her pores was nearly undetectable, her black grace a dull grey instead. The power she used moments ago had weakened her further, though she easily concealed the effect. No longer was she more powerful than the archangels. Denel was weaker than a seraph. Months would pass before Denel was at full power; and unless the other Horseman Archangel was revived, nothing would change that fact.

Yet if Death had the choice between being under Lucifer's control for either an eternity or less than a year, he would choose the latter. Better to wait than send Denel towards immediate death.

Additional to this unfortunate roadblock, he could not permit Denel freedom to wander, not in her weakened state. She would continue using her power without allowing it restoration time. No, Denel needed an environment that would force her to suppress her angelic self, grace and all. Whether she would agree with him or not, that was a question he did not yet know. Most likely she would disagree, considering the idea was Death's.

His biggest concern was the other angels. While Dean Winchester's human body was hidden, Denel's grace was not. Had Death not erected a barrier before awakening Denel, the building would have immediately been surrounded by angels. If Death was to let Denel go, he would be assuring her destruction. And with Denel's pride, she would never openly admit her weakness and ask for help.

Death chose to be direct. "I understand. Until your power is restored, however, I suggest you return to Sam Winchester and Robert Singer." Before Denel could snap at him, Death continued, "You are no longer able to possess other vessels, so if any angel finds you, Zachariah will immediately be onto your wings. Besides, if they realize Dean Winchester is missing, they will do a worldwide search for him. Either way, your best bet is to remain with your human brother. And as for your grace, I can teach you to suppress it."

Denel looked about to refuse and teleport away. Instead, she crossed her arms and acquiesced. "Fine. Just do not expect a perfect performance in front of those humans. Knowing the memories of my human self does not automatically make me him."

Noting Denel's feminine qualities, he could only agree. Her voice and posture were his greatest concerns.

Death flicked his wrist, floating a chair from one of the tables beside his counterpart. She glanced down with her ever-present sneer and gracefully sat with legs folded at the ankles, hands settled in her lap. Death purposely glanced down at her legs then looked back to her face. He raised an eyebrow, "Surely being around your significant other has taught you a few things about sitting."

Denel glared at him while slouching down a few inches and spreading her legs at the appropriate width. Her hands reluctantly moved away from her lap, Denel's arms crossing as casually as possible. "Well?"

Death nodded before banishing the chair with a snap. Denel remained floating in the fixed posture. He felt her glare at the back of his vessel's head as he walked across the room without his cane. Death swung his arms with each step forward, his feet always moving on separate sides. His skeletal hips did not sway.

He stopped in front of Denel, gesturing her to stand. She scowled but followed the order, walking the same line as Death without copying his exact movements. Although her arms swung forward and back, her feet moved in front of the other in a perfect straight line, causing her hips – or lack thereof – to sway unlike her human self. Denel also abandoned the slight slouch that most human were unable to avoid using. She was inhumanly straight.

When she turned around, Death tilted his head with a patronizing smile. As he expected, Denel responded to his challenge. She huffed and walked once more, mirroring her counterparts stride and meeting minimal difficulty. Her hips still swayed, but unless one knew what to search for, it was unnoticeable. "Think you can manage this for an indiscernible amount of time?"

Denel did not deign him with a response. She continued to walk around the room until her hips were no longer swaying, and then smirked. "What now, my master?"

He ignored her sarcasm, "Before I can help you conceal your grace from other angels, we need to be sure your voice loses all traces of that feminine accent. Look back through every conversation your human self was involved in. Remember his tone, his emphasis, his dialect, even the rough sound in each word he spoke. Remember his expressions and emulate those emotions. And most importantly, speak modernly. You have not been alive for millions of years, only a little more than three decades. So repeat after me: My name is Dean Winchester."

Denel bristled but obeyed. She mouthed the words before repeating aloud, "My name is Dean Winchester." Her voice was still feminine, but Death could hear remnants of that male voice: the gruff pitch and arrogance Winchester often portrayed despite his numerous insecurities.

"'I think I'm adorable'."

"Are you playing me?" Denel frowned.

"Denel."

"Fine." She took a deep breath before twisting her lips into a cheeky grin, teeth clenched as she repeated the sentence from three years ago.

Death raised an eyebrow. "I am sure the human was anything but angry when he said that."

Instead of punching him like he thought she would, Denel repeated the impudent response with surprising success, her tone and emotion on the mark.

They repeated this process for fifteen minutes, Death reviewing Denel's memories and pulling out certain sentences from her human self. Each time she failed, Death asked her to recite until the sentence was enunciated correctly. The feminine accent was fading as Denel continued with little slips. She glared and scowled at him many times, but Death ignored each one. Eventually, Denel only maintained the expressions needed to relive every quote Death repeated from Winchester's life.

Though she did give him absolute hell for anything pertaining Winchester's womanizing ways:

"Must you remind me of those unsavory memories?"

"Just keep repeating, Denel."

"Here's a new quote for you: Fuck off, you emaciated son of a bitch!"

"Must you be crass?"

"I'm just being my human self. It's what you're enforcing, after all."

He finished with the most challenging playback. And as he expected, Denel needed a few minutes to gather up one of the hardest expressions for one without that particular emotion. Pure despair.

Denel had her eyes closed tightly, pulling up the memory without sneering at the pathetic images Death knew she was watching and memorizing. Tears suddenly began collecting around her eyes, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Blood gathered around each indentation before immediately healing and reappearing once more in a continuous cycle. Denel finally opened her eyes, the tears slipping down her cheeks. Her glistening green eyes glowed brighter, "Then you guys are screwed. I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. I'm not all here. I'm not... I'm not strong enough. Find someone else. It's not me."

Death nodded, satisfied with the end result. Immediately Denel's tears stopped and the defeated expression cleared away as if it had never existed. She smirked victoriously, "Pleased now, Mavet?"

He summoned his cane. "I will be pleased when you begin calling me by my real name. You know I despise the names humans have given me over the centuries."

"And you know you asked me that exact question sixty years ago, as well as one hundred thirty-two years ago, and so on." Denel laughed without accent, "Want to ask again, Mr. Grim Reaper?"

They stared each other down, neither looking away until the light of Denel's grace intensified. A look of resignation crossed her face and she held out her hands. "Alright, now what?"

Death lifted his cane, setting the end against Denel's chest. "Now we need to hide away your angelic power. You must first concentrate your grace into one whole sphere. Place all your power within, and learn to release the small amounts you need without alerting angels near you. While I am capable of collecting your grace into one mass, everything after that is up to you."

She scowled, "That's not much help, Mavet."

"Trust me, Denel." Death set down the cane. "You know what to do. You merely need to be willing to try."

Denel banished all frustration from her expression. "Then let us begin."

Death stepped forward, placing two fingers against Denel's chest and closing his eyes. He could sense every scattered piece of Denel's grace, spread throughout the human body. As if sensing his dark energy in turn, the pieces began to slowly congregate around the spot beneath Death's fingers. Within a few minutes, her grace was in sphere form. Death stepped back. Everything else was up to Denel, whom he had no doubt would be successful. She always was.

Denel's eyes remained open, the green nearly black but still glowing ominously. She was deep inside herself, sealing her grace and creating a miniscule opening for any grace she would need in the future. Soon the glow in her eyes dulled and eventually disappeared, the light emanating from her entire body following along until her form was returned to its original, human appearance. In front of Death stood Dean Winchester, who glanced down at himself with a smug smile. He removed the two rings from his fingers and dropped them to the floor, crushing them.

Yet, in Death's eyes, he could only see the man as his angelic counterpart.

"How are you feeling, Denel?"

"Very human, unfortunately." Denel stretched his limbs, sighing contently at the popping sounds. In the attempt of adapting to mortality, Denel's voice reverted to a slight feminine quality. Seeing Death's pointed look, Denel rolled his eyes and spoke with the correct masculine register. "I remember, Mavet. Don't get your skull-printed panties in a bunch."

He definitely had the brass language of a human down. Death just hoped Denel would speak normally once the apocalypse was averted. Until then, Death needed Denel to blend in. Once his strength and abilities reached full power, Lucifer would be dead and Death would have freedom once more.

"Three hours have passed since I took your human self. Sam Winchester and Robert Singer will be checking up on you very soon." Despite dealing with Denel, Death knew every move the two humans made since. He was impressed how dedicated they were to their fruitless research. Two important people died a week ago, and instead of living in grief like Dean Winchester, they continued working. Had Death not chosen to awaken Denel, the eldest Winchester brother would have given up his life and the world to the archangel Michael. One way or another.

"Then it is time, Mavet. May the show go on towards a happy ending... unless we have auditioned for one of William's famous tragedies." With a sudden snap of his fingers, Denel gained a sleepy countenance. His short hair was sticking up and dark shadows were beneath his eyes. All traces of blood had disappeared, leaving his clothes clean but horribly wrinkled. "Let the fun begin."

Death smiled humorlessly, gripping Denel's hand and placing a kiss upon the top. An imaginary bell sounded. "Ring the curtain up."

The dilapidated building vanished soon after their departure, leaving a dead field in its place.


End file.
